The same ever-gay tone, the same pleasant smile, accompanied the words. And yet, at that moment, instead of walking straightforward into the open space beyond the elm-trees, as Arthur did, Hamish withdrew his arm from his brother’s, and halted under their shade, peering cautiously around. They were then within view of their own door.
“What are you looking at?”
“To make sure that the coast is clear. I heard to-day—Arthur, I know that I shall shock you—that a fellow had taken out a writ against me. I don’t want to get it served, if I can help it.”
Arthur was indeed shocked. “Oh, Hamish!” was all he uttered. But the tone betrayed a strange amount of pain mingled with reproach.
“You must not think ill of me. I declare that I have been led into this scrape blindfolded, as may be said. I never dreamt I was getting into it. I am not reckless by nature; and, but for the expectation of that money, I should be as free now as you are.”
Thought upon thought was crowding into Arthur’s mind. He did not speak.
“I cannot charge myself with any foolish or unnecessary expenditure,” Hamish resumed. “And,” he added in a deeper tone, “my worst enemy will not accuse me of rashly incurring debts to gratify my own pleasures. I do not get into mischief. Were I addicted to drinking, or to gambling, my debts might have been ten times what they are.”
“They are enough, it seems,” said Arthur. But he spoke the words in sadness, not in a spirit of reproof.
“Arthur, they may prove of the greatest service, in teaching me caution for the future. Perhaps I wanted the lesson. Let me once get out of this hash, and I will take pretty good care not to fall into another.”
“If you only can get out of it.”